


Moats and Boats Missing Pieces

by blueink3



Series: Moats and Boats'verse [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daddy Charming, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2018-11-07 07:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3
Summary: Some interludes and tiny moments we don't see in Moats and Boats and Waterfalls. Originally posted on tumblr and compiled here.





	1. From Chapter 3

"David?"

He glances up from the book in his lap to find her standing in his doorway, practically drowning his oversized t-shirt.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I can't fall asleep."

He chuckles. "I can see that. C'mere." He pats the bed next to him and she's quick to scurry across the carpet. It's taken her two tries to hook her foot over the thick comforter, but he scoops her under her elbows and deftly lifts her up.

"Anything bothering you?" he asks, as he tucks her under his arm and settles back against the pillow.

"No."

He places a kiss on her head and runs his fingers through her hair, carefully broaching the next question. "Is it the nightmares? Are you afraid to fall asleep?"

But his fears are for naught, because her answer comes so simply. "Not if you're here."

 _Oh._ So that's what it's like, to have someone trust you so implicitly.

He places another kiss on her head, and continues to stroke her hair, returning to his book as she settles deeper into the crook of his arm, content to just _be._

He tells himself he'll read just two more chapters, but then Emma's breathing evens out and he settles for just finishing one. Her grip on his shirt loosens, but doesn't release, and it's not until the next morning, when he wakes with a book on his chest and a girl burrowed into his side that he realizes he didn't even finish the page.


	2. From Chapter 4

"Chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?" Graham asks, holding up three separate pints of ice cream.

"All of them," she replies, definitively.

"All of them?" The strawberry falls to the counter first, followed quickly by the chocolate. "David'll kill me if I give you all of them."

"Nuh uh. He likes you."

Oh the logic of a child.

"For the time being," Graham mutters.

Until he comes home to find the fort they've built in the middle of the living room out of every single clean piece of linen the closet had to offer. Until his child is passed out under it all, face covered in some sort of Neapolitan ice cream masterpiece.

Her face scrunches in an adorable pout as she reaches across the table for the vanilla that's just out of her reach.

"Can you babysit me all the time?"

"We'll see," he replies. 

"Because you're my favorite."

He narrows his eyes at her. "You just want three scoops of ice cream."

"Please?" She looks at him with wide, hopeful eyes and, really, that's just not fair.

"Oh fine," he huffs. 

"Yes!" She jabs her spoon victoriously into the air.

"But," Graham begins, moving the pint of ice cream out of her reach, even though she's already managed to steal a bite of strawberry, "what are we going to do first?"

"Clean up the fort?"

"Right. And who aren't we going to tell?"

"David."

"David, that's right, darlin'."

"What aren't we telling David?" the man himself asks from the door.

"Uh oh," Emma whispers, spoon of ice cream halfway to her mouth.

"Uh oh is right," Graham replies.

"Big trouble?" 

David's gaze flicks to the living room, eyeing the fort for a moment, before returning to the two guilty parties in the kitchen.

"If you didn't save any chocolate for me, then yes, big trouble."


	3. From Chapter 5

"Rory, no!"

Mary Margaret runs after the puppy, a dangerous feat under any circumstance, but especially so in the slight heels she's wearing.

"Rory!"

He stops at the corner and turns back, his pink tongue hanging out in what almost looks like a _smile,_ before he takes off again down the block.

Mary Margaret groans and continues after him, thinking that investing in the dog might not have been her smartest idea. He's heading toward the water and, for a moment, she's seriously concerned about the forethought her puppy seems to lack. He'd gladly jump into the bay without considering he's never learned how to swim.

The thought makes her run harder, but as she turns the corner, she slams to a stop at the sight before her.

Emma is sitting in David's lap and now Rory is in Emma's. Both are laughing as the puppy jumps and nips, attempting to get a good lick on either of their faces, or a piece of the bread they were throwing to the ducks.

David catches her eye as he leans back, laughing heartily as the puppy climbs over Emma in an effort to reach his chin.

 _Huh,_ Mary Margaret thinks, heart hammering from the run, and definitely not the look in David's eyes.

_Good dog._


	4. Between Chapters 8 and 9

_"No, no, no! Miss Blanchard's gonna be here any minute!"_

Those are the first words she hears when stepping through the open doorway. It's odd, since it's October and the door is certainly not propped ajar for the bitter breeze. No, if the bags dropped in the foyer are any indication, it was left open upon discovering whatever happens to be the cause of David's current distress.

"Hello?" she calls out.

"Uh oh," she hears Emma say.

"Uh oh," David replies.

And when Mary Margaret enters the kitchen, she definitely knows why. There's chocolate everywhere. And she means _everywhere._ Well, everywhere Emma can reach, and the girl herself is sitting high and mighty at the kitchen table, a yellow juice box in front her along with a half-eaten Hershey bar.

"Looks like someone had some fun," she remarks, winking at Emma and giving David a sympathetic smile.

The man seems pained, embarrassed, and semi-amused all rolled up into one frazzled, incredibly good-looking package.

"Sorry - I just - we," He glances at the walls, at Emma's face, and at his own sweet-covered hands and groans.

"Go, really. You were supposed to meet Graham…" she checks her watch, "three minutes ago."

Emma's watching the proceedings with an odd look - it's devilish, yet contrite, and a little… panicked? Mary Margaret keeps one eye on her as she listens to David detail when he'll be home.

" - shouldn't be too late. I'm so sorry, I truly don't know what got into her."

"I can handle it. At least it's chocolate," she offers, trying to get him to see the bright side.

"True. Still." He stops his rushing and stands silent for a moment in the foyer, studying her. "Thank you. It seems like you're always coming to my rescue."

_"You saved me."_

_"It was the honorable thing to do."_

"Be careful," she whispers, shaking off the echo of the voices in her head.

"Always," he replies, giving her another warm smile, before diverting his attention to the kitchen and the little girl sitting guiltily at the table. "We'll talk about this when I get home, squirt."

"Big trouble?" she asks.

"Big trouble," he replies, but it comes out less sternly than he probably means.

Her face falls and something inside Mary Margaret breaks at the bow of her head and the slump of her shoulders. It seems to affect David too, because he hesitates in the doorway, watching her with that pained look again, but Mary Margaret gives him a gentle shove and he's backing out the door, eyes never leaving hers until she shuts it with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile.

With a sigh, she makes her way back to the kitchen and to the little girl who's doing a rather good impression of a baked good before it gets put into the oven.

"Am I in trouble?" she asks so quietly, and gone is the devilish grin.

"Emma, you're a bigger girl than that," Mary Margaret replies, gesturing to the mess. "You're almost six. Too old to be doing this."

And that's all is takes for the girl to burst into tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I thought it would work."

Mary Margaret rushes forward and brushes the girl's sticky curls out of her face. "You thought what would work, sweetheart?"

"I thought he'd stay. I didn't want him to go to work. Bad things happen at work."

 _Oh._ Yes, now she sees.

Mary Margaret places a kiss on her blond head, getting a bit of chocolate on her lip and chuckling despite the circumstances.

Of course Emma would turn the kitchen into a minor disaster zone just to keep David home. Of course she would because, like David (and perhaps even herself, she's learning) Emma doesn't do things halfway.

A warm washcloth takes care of the majority of the chocolate on the table and the walls, but Emma still sniffles where she sits and Mary Margaret lifts her hand, holding it out until the child takes it.

"Bath time."

"You're not mad?"

"No, I'm not mad. I think there are better ways for you to tell David you'll miss him, but I'm not mad."

"Do you think David's mad?" Her eyes are watering and her lip is trembling and Mary Margaret can't even muster a 'maybe.' Not with that pout staring back at her.

"No, sweetheart, I don't think he's mad. He'll still talk to you about it later, but he's not mad." She turns the water on and let's the bath fill.

Emma is trusting of her now, and takes off her chocolate covered clothes without Mary Margaret having to ask. And she's _so relieved_ to find the bruises fading. To see her skin turning back to the pale white it should be.

Emma steps into the tub and tilts her head back, allowing Mary Margaret to run her fingers through her hair, washing the brown from the blonde.

"So what on earth made you think that _chocolate_ was a good idea?"

She shrugs yet Mary Margaret reads the _'It was all I could think of'_ in the gesture. For five, she's remarkably perceptive.

"Is hanging out with me so bad that you tried to get David to stay home?" she teases, tugging gently on a lock of hair.

"No, I was hoping I'd get both of you," she whispers and Mary Margaret pauses.

That's all she wants. She wants a mother and a father and, right now, Mary Margaret and David fit those bills. Her chest aches and she has to clear her throat before asking Emma to tilt her head back so she can wash the shampoo out.

"You have both of us, sweetheart," she finally says when she trusts her voice once more. "You have us."

Emma looks up with eyes so like David's.

"Really?"

"Really," Mary Margaret responds, wiping a chocolate smudge from a chin that looks oddly familiar.

Hm.

She wonders where she got it from.


	5. From Chapter 13

"So…" Graham nods, silently pleading for David to come back in, to forget something and not leave him alone with the girl in front of him, but the bastard doesn't listen and the door remains firmly and disappointingly shut.

And Emma smiles, like she just heard that entire inner monologue. "So…" She sits on the couch, and props her feet up on the coffee table, claiming her territory. Graham swallows. "I'm assuming Storybrooke doesn't have much of a nightlife."

"You assume correctly." He raises an eyebrow, letting his eyes flick to her stomach. "And what would _you_ want with nightlife?"

It takes him a moment to realize that that might not have been the best thing to say. No, that fact doesn't sink in until her body freezes and her expression goes tight; and for a moment, he truly is worried that's she's about to flee. He has an odd feeling that he's seen deer with similar expressions.

"He told you," she finally says and Graham has a sudden, urgent feeling of _oh shite._

He scrunches his face and rubs the back of his neck, looking at some point on the wall above her head. "Yeah… please don't be mad at him. He tells me most things. We're sort of… all each other has."

"That's adorable," she replies, in a way that is most definitely teasing.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, thinking that food is a safe, non-awkward topic.

"I'm pregnant, I'm always hungry. Except when I'm puking."

Nope. Still awkward.

He doesn't know how to handle teenagers. Or pregnant women. Or teenagers who happen to _be_ pregnant women. There's no manual for this and for a moment, Graham marvels at how well David adapts to these situations. Not that he's been in many.

"Pizza?" Emma asks, saving him from himself. "C'mon, Storybrooke's gotta have a decent pizza joint, or else I'm outta here."

"And what would David have to say about that?" It's a joke, but Graham knows. He'd be heartbroken.

Emma shrugs, skirting the rather weighty question, but Graham can see the conflict in her eyes. The hesitation, the _consideration_ of what her departure would do to the man who took her in.

"Pizza it is. Toppings?"

"Pepperoni?" she suggests.

"I knew I liked you." He reaches for the phone, punching in the number he's ashamed to say he knows by heart. And unfortunately, Emma calls him out on it.

"Don't cook much?"

"Shut up," he replies with a smile.

Pizza is ordered and an old Katharine Hepburn movie is found on tv. He keeps one eye on the film and the other on Emma, who keeps reaching over and stealing pepperoni slices off of his half of the pizza.

"Oi!" he yells on her third sneak attack.

"Blame the baby," she laughs as she pops it into her mouth.

"Oh that's not fair." Graham will have to add 'shameless' to the list of things that Emma is, along with 'sardonic' and 'sublime.'

"Works every time," she sing-songs as she pops another piece in her mouth.

"They make _extra_ pepperoni, you know. You can order it. It's a thing."

"I'm sure it is, but I'd rather go for yours." She leans back and places a hand on her barely visible bump. "It's closer."

He lets her win, which he's sure he'll do for the entirety of her stay. And which he's almost positive David does on a daily basis. Graham knows that, because Emma has a face you can't quite say 'no' to.

Still. When she challenges him to Monopoly, 'letting her win' barely even crosses his mind as Park Place and Boardwalk disappear under his fingers.

No. She kicks his ass fair and square and Graham wouldn't have it any other way.


	6. From Chapter 16

"Operation… Hellfire."

"Hellfire? No!" Emma immediately says, lifting a kernel of popcorn up to indicate she's ready.

"Lay it on me," Graham says, as he tilts his head back and opens his mouth. She tosses it and it bounces off his nose. "You're two for six, Swan. Not very good."

"It's your fault you can't catch them."

"It's not my fault you can't aim!" he retorts and she throws another one, aiming purposefully for his eye. "Oi!"

"It can't be Hellfire," she continues, ignoring him. "We're trying to get them together. Not set them up on a blind date with the devil."

Graham shrugs and says, "Could be fun," before opening his mouth again for Emma to try another kernel. She does and it hits his forehead this time. "You know, I'm really getting hungry over here."

"Shut up," she mumbles around her own mouthful. "It's gotta be romantic."

"Like… what? Operation: Fairytale?"

"Not all fairytales are romantic," Emma points out and Graham concedes.

"Operation: Dove? That's romantic, right? They set them loose at weddings, or something."

"Ooh! Operation: Dovetail!"

"What? How is yours better than mine?!" Graham leans forward in protest, but Emma throws another piece of popcorn to keep him at bay and he catches it flawlessly.

She cheers, despite the fact that his office is absolutely littered with pieces, but he doesn't want to celebrate.

"No, tell me how Operation: Dovetail is better than Operation: Dove. You just want to be the one who came up with the name, don't you," he says, coming over and stuffing a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

"I'm pregnant. You have to let me win."

"What?! You can't just make up rules as you go!"

"Sure I can. Watch: every popcorn kernel missed is worth two points more than if you actually make it. See? I won."

Graham's jaw drops, but he seems to know better than to argue with a pregnant woman. "Fine. But I pick out my own codename."

"Agreed."

"Renegade."

"Absolutely not."

But Graham can't voice his indignation; not when David is opening the door and eyeing the popcorn-littered floor with apprehension.

"What are you two up to?"

"Nothing," they simultaneously reply.

Emma groans and hangs her head as David raises an eyebrow and Graham bursts out laughing.

Yeah, they definitely could have timed that better.


	7. From Chapter 17

"How about this one?" Mary Margaret points to an oak display and Emma scrunches her nose and shakes her head.

It's too ornate. Too grandiose for a little kid unable to hold up his own head.

She wants simplicity. Something easy. A crib that represents her life at this particular moment in time, which is surprisingly uncomplicated. For once.

She takes a moment to run her fingers over the wood before moving on, falling into step behind the woman who agreed to accompany her. After five failed attempts with David, Emma really didn't think she could justify dragging him away again. But Mary Margaret was more than eager, and Emma is only too grateful to have the older woman smiling encouragingly at her, even as Emma vetoes every crib they come across.

"Are you excited?" The question comes after a few minutes' silence and it catches Emma off guard.

"Terrified' would be more accurate," she replies and Mary Margaret smiles. Emma takes comfort in her smiles; they're like a warm blanket on a cold night.

Just like David's.

"You'll be a great mom," Mary Margaret says with such conviction that Emma's breath catches.

"Oh, I don't know - "

"Of course you will. You're quick to love," is the reply and Emma's mouth opens, ready to refute, but it snaps shut before the argument can form.

Of all the ways to describe Emma Swan, 'quick to love' - on either the sending or receiving end - would not be the first phrase to come to mind. Emma knows this, has had a lifetime of experience in this, which is why she's so thrown by Mary Margaret's complete sincerity. By the wide eyes and faithful smile that have come to define the woman before her.

And then it hits her. Mary Margaret describes her as quick to love because it's all she knows of her. It's all the evidence she's seen.

For the second time in her life, she let her walls fall and David stepped through the rubble. David, Mary Margaret, Graham, Ruby, Granny. They've all occupied a space in the heart she had sworn never to sublet.

This is an absolutely earth-shattering realization to come to, but Mary Margaret has already moved ahead, calmly perusing a rack of baby clothes as Emma tries dearly not to begin hyperventilating.

Eventually, she reminds her limbs how to work and follows after the brunette, wondering why - after 18 years of running - she finds it so easy to stop.

Here.

With them.

"I always wanted a daughter," Mary Margaret murmurs, tracing her finger around a pink cotton onesie and the longing in her voice makes Emma glance up and study her. At least she says it's the longing. Truth be told, the word 'daughter' leaving Mary Margaret's lips made something inside Emma pang. It was an ache both painful yet… hopeful.

"You've got time," she quietly responds, picking up the pink onesie's blue counterpart and placing it in her basket.

"Yes, I suppose I do." Mary Margaret smiles somewhat sadly at the rack of pink once more before inhaling deeply and plastering a fake smile on her face. "Picked a favorite story from the book yet?"

Emma shakes her head. She honestly hasn't had time to read it all that much. "Not yet. Did you?"

Mary Margaret shrugs, coming to rest at a crib that Emma is pretty sure is _the_ crib. "I was always partial to Snow White and Prince Charming."

Emma stops. Huh. Prince Charming - the guy David looks so much like.

Maybe she's sort of partial to them, too.

"This one?" Mary Margaret asks, pointing to the crib.

Simple. Sturdy. Safe.

Her life at this particular moment in time.

"It's perfect."


	8. From Chapter 17 Part 2

 "Do you believe in fate?"

"Fate?" David's voice comes from beneath the crib as he reaches blindly for the hammer at his side. Emma nudges it closer to his outstretched hand with her toe, before flipping a page in the book on her lap.

"Yeah, fate," she responds and he chuckles.

"I'd like to believe in the concept of it, but I haven't seen much proof." He peeks out, narrowly avoiding whacking his head, and raises an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"The book… talks about it a lot." She traces the illustration on the page opposite the story of Snow White and Prince Charming. She has no idea why, but she keeps finding herself back here - on page twenty-three and reading words that shouldn't be as captivating as she finds them.

"Fate is only as powerful as you make it," he replies. 

"Oh really?" she drawls. "So what brought me to your door?"

"A crappy car."

"Hey!" She laughs at the answer and he smiles, winking as he disappears back under the crib, but his answer has thrown her.

When did he become the skeptic? He's always been in staunch support of things happening for a reason. His faith gives her leave to question everything that's happened to her up until now. The abusive homes and the nights spent in her car. The love she allowed herself to feel and the trust that was thrown back in her face. She's never had faith in some grand, master plan, which he why she needs him to show her the way.

Because if he doesn't trust that things happen for a reason, then who will?

"David, I really need you to believe in fate."

The hammering stops and he's quiet for a moment, before sliding back out from under the crib and sitting up, staring at her intently.

"I do believe in fate."

"But you just said - "

"I believe fate brought you to this town and made your car break down. I believe your map took you through Storybrooke on the night I happened to be on duty. I believe I was supposed to find you just as you were supposed to find me."

Her heart is pounding, but she doesn't dare tear her eyes away from his.

"I say I don't put too much stock in fate because I'm afraid fate will take you away again. And that…" he trails off, smiling faintly and tapping her knee. "That is not something I'm equipped to handle."

He returns to the crib and nonchalantly slides back under, as if he didn't just tip her whole world sideways.

The book falls from her lap, but she makes no attempt to catch it. It thuds to the floor, flipping open to the page whose spine has been broken the most.

_"Can you promise me our child will be safe? Can you guarantee it? Because he can."_

_"All right. For our child."_

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"I won't let fate take me away from you."

She nudges his boot with her toe and he emerges from beneath the bed he's building for her baby.

"Well then, that makes two of us."


	9. From Chapter 19

“Hold his head." 

"I've  _got_ his head,” Graham whispers as David passes the baby off. 

Graham has only slightly less experience than David does where babies are concerned, and David can’t help but hover as the sheriff tucks Henry into the crook of his arm. Maybe because Graham is the one who shows up on his doorstep, uninvited, with at least two six packs of beer under his arm. 

Maybe that’s why David is having issues reconciling the man who yells at the television whenever the Red Sox are losing with the man staring down at the bundle in his arms with complete wonderment. He’s also having trouble reconciling his sheriff with the stoic Huntsman who saved his life twice-over. Because saving Snow means saving him. And as David stares at his best friend, he truly wonders if there’s any way to repay the debt he owes. 

“I feel like I’m gonna break him." 

"You won’t break him,” David says, feeling comfortable enough to take a step back next to Emma once more. 

“How do you know? What babies have you held?” is Graham’s reply and he means it as a joke, yet the words are a punch to David’s gut. 

 _“Emma. Emma was the last baby I held,"_ he wants to say. But he can’t, because of the four people currently in this room, only one knows the truth, and it’s a horrible burden to bear. 

"Point taken,” he croaks out instead and is surprised when Emma takes his hand, as if sensing his pain. He glances down at her, utterly overwhelmed at the pride he’s feeling and gives her a tight smile. She returns it tenfold, before staring at Graham once more. 

He takes a moment to watch her watch him, and David frowns at the look on her face. It’s not how she stares at him when she thinks he’s not looking, but it’s something. Something David feels like he should keep an eye on, even if Emma claims everything to the contrary. 

He follows her gaze to Graham, who’s begun to rock back and forth. He’s a natural, David will give him that, and he can’t help but wonder if the man had a family that was torn from him too. A wife? A daughter? A son? 

There are too many separated spouses and orphaned children in Storybrooke right now, and the thought nearly makes David’s knees buckle. How to fix the town, his  _people_ , when he can’t even make his own wife and daughter see him as husband and father? 

Speaking of which… Mary Margaret peeks over Graham’s shoulder and coos at the baby as Graham rocks him back and forth. 

“Wanna hold him?” the sheriff asks. 

“In a minute,” she replies. “He looks pretty content for the time being." 

David squeezes Emma’s hand as he stares at his wife and his best friend. Their roles from two separate worlds, that seem to fit together seamlessly. 

_"He looks pretty content for the time being."_

David empathizes. 

For the time being. 


	10. Between Chapters 19 and 20

She manages to wait until the door clicks shut before the panic sets in. 

The thump of David’s footsteps are still on the porch, yet she can’t call him back, no matter how badly she wants to. She knew it took all the strength he had just to walk out the door - if she calls him back now, he’ll never leave. 

It’s the first time she’s being left alone with Henry and despite the books she’s read and the pep talks David’s given, she’s absolutely petrified.

“Okay…” she whispers. “Okay." 

She nods, glancing around at the supplies she’s armed herself with: diapers, pacifiers, toys, towels, and enough baby powder to whiten the entire first floor. Yet somehow, she can’t shake the feeling she’s forgetting something. 

Henry chooses that moment to wail and she drops her head into her hands. 

Right. The baby - an important component in all this planning if there ever was one. 

She dashes upstairs, tripping on the top step and stumbling into the room, never failing to marvel at the light that dances on the walls with every turn the glass mobile makes. 

"Shhh, Mommy’s here,” she soothes, still getting used to the word on her tongue. It took her by surprise, the first time David jokingly used it.  _“You’re up, Mommy,”_ he's said, the words leaving his lips on a smile as Henry cried for milk. And ever since then, it’s been a terrifyingly fantastic thing to hear and know someone is referring to  _her_. 

She’s a mother. The orphan is a mother and, really, she wishes David would just come back. She needs him more than Storybrooke does at the moment. 

She lifts Henry into her arms, placing a kiss on his cheek as his cries die down into whimpers. 

“I know, I miss him too,” she murmurs, making her way down the stairs and taking in the fortress she’s built out of diaper packages. “But we can do it, yes? Just you and me?" 

Henry wails again and Emma groans. 

"Kid, you are really bruising my ego - ” She’d elaborate, but she’s interrupted by the doorbell and Emma rushes over (briefly hoping that David has heard her silent pleas), swinging the door open to find Mary Margaret on the other side. 

“Hi," the teacher begins. "A little birdie told me you were on your own, and while I have complete faith in your ability to handle this, I merely thought I’d stop by for moral support." 

The words spill out in a rush, but all Emma can focus on is the fact that she’s not alone. Someone is here.  _Mary Margaret_ is here. 

"Thank you,” Emma mumbles, stepping into the other woman’s open embrace and sinking into it (mindful of Henry) as arms wrap around her.

No, David isn’t here, but he’s sent for the next best thing.

And, frankly, she kind of adores him for that. 


	11. From Chapter 20

It takes her approximately eight seconds after entering the house to realize it’s far too quiet. Absent are the shrieks, giggles, and coos Henry has begun making and also gone are David’s non-sensical replies, spoken with such a cadence and pitch to suggest that he knows exactly what Henry is trying to say. 

“David?" 

She checks the counter to find no note in the usual spot, informing her when he and Henry have gone on an adventure: 

_"Checking out a missing cat report. Bringing Henry as backup."_

_"Granny has a new pancake recipe. Henry and I are taste-testers."_

Or her favorite: 

_"Boys’ night. Back soon. xo D.”_

So it’s with only a tiny feeling of worry that she ascends the stairs, calling out David’s name again and receiving no reply in return. Reaching the landing, she pokes her head into Henry’s room, smiling briefly as the fading sun catches the mobile, before continuing on to David’s. 

And that’s when she hears it:

_“Why do you build me up, build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to let me down. And mess me around…"_

Her jaw drops as she inches across the carpet, listening to the running water from the shower underscore the slightly off-key lyrics currently being belted from behind the bathroom door. 

_"And then worst of all, worst of all, you never call, baby, when you say you will, say you will, but I love you still."_

"I need you, I need you, more than anyone darlin,” she finds herself mouthing, the long forgotten song coming back like the way home.

He stops singing and, for a moment, she fears she accidentally said the lyric aloud, but then -

“Henry, that’s your line,” David complains and Emma can hear Henry shriek in response. “Good enough,” he laughs, beginning to hum the song once more. 

She slides down the wall and listens as they make their way through some Stevie Wonder and some Jackson 5, staying until she hears the water shut off. She doesn’t want to be caught in the act, though truthfully, she could have listened all night. 

He’s got a good voice. A  _great_ voice, even. And he’s clearly been holding out on her every time he tries to beg off participating in a bedtime lullaby. She’ll have to put up a stronger fight next time. 

She tiptoes downstairs, not saying a word about the song or the shared shower when the boys descend shortly thereafter. David seems to have missed a bit of shaving cream under his left ear and Henry’s soft tuft of hair sticks up in what appears to be a failed attempt at a mohawk. She even keeps mum when David hums along to the music as they cook dinner side-by-side.

But the next day, when she leaves for her shift at the diner, she leaves a note in their usual spot: 

_“I need you more than anything, darlin’. You know that I have from the start. So build me up, Buttercup. Don’t break my heart."_

And when she peeks around the corner to watch him read it, she loves how his ears turn pink, even as he presses the note to his chest with a smile.


	12. Between Chapters 22 and 23

Oh God. It’s happening. Henry is standing on wobbly legs and eyeing the stuffed wolf on the other side of the room like a runner eyeing the finish line.

He releases his left hand, and glances up at her, smiling widely before returning his gaze to his gift from Uncle Graham. The thumb of his right hand releases its hold and then his pointer finger. His left leg inches forward, but his right one remains rooted to the carpet on which he stands. 

Emma’s been holding her breath for the past twenty seconds because, for the past twenty  _days,_  Henry’s been a moment away from taking those precious first steps and bets have been placed on which family member the baby would choose to witness this milestone moment. 

Of course, she had hoped it would be her, but the beautiful thing is that she knows David wished that for her too, despite the fact that he would have loved to have witnessed Henry walk for the first time. Which is why she’s overwhelmed with joy when the front door opens and he steps in, stretching his neck after a long night shift and pausing in the doorway to watch her turn slightly blue. 

“What are you - ?”

“Shh." 

And, as if Henry knows that all parties are present and accounted for, he lets go and doesn’t look back, placing one slightly unsteady foot after the other, pausing for balance but never once stopping.

She should have a camera, but frankly she can’t be bothered as David comes to stand next to her, allowing her to grab his arm tightly.  

"He’s determined,” she whispers as she watches her son toddle over and pick up the wolf with glee. 

“Yeah,” David replies as he swallows hard, placing a hand on hers and squeezing. “Runs in the family.”   


	13. From Chapter 23

“Like this?” Henry asks, winding up his arm and throwing his piece of bread so hard, he spins himself in a semi-circle and topples to the ground. 

David chuckles as he scoops the four-year-old up and sets him back down on his feet. “Yeah, something like that." 

"Oh come on, David,” Emma teases from where she sits on the bench, red leather jacket wrapped around her against the breeze. “Show him a proper pitch. You and Graham certainly watch enough baseball to get the gist." 

He raises an eyebrow, rising to the challenge. She looks so like Snow in those moments - taunting and teasing, her eyes alight with a spark of mischief and warmth. He wishes she would tease him every moment of every day, just so he could see her mother in her face. 

"All right, then.” He crouches down behind Henry and wraps an arm around the boy’s middle, placing another piece of bread in his tiny hand. “Hold tight to this, okay?" 

"Kay,” the boy replies, leaning back against David’s chest, trusting him implicitly. And David can’t help but sneak a small kiss to his ear. 

“Now wind up, so your elbow is back like this. See?” He pulls the boy’s arm back gently and holds it level as Henry studies it. 

“Uh huh." 

"Okay, now you see that big duck out there?" 

"Yep." 

"You’re going to aim right for him, and then - " 

"How do you know it’s a him?” Henry interrupts and, quite frankly, David’s at loss. 

“Uh…" 

"Boy ducks look just like girl ducks." 

He can hear Emma failing to contain her laughter behind them and he marvels at how the boy continues to catch him completely off guard on a daily basis. He takes after his grandmother in that regard. 

"Well, what do you think it is?” is the response he comes up with, and Henry - arm still poised mid-throw - cocks his head, studying the creature in front of them. 

“I think it’s a boy." 

"And why is that?”

Henry’s brow creases in a way David’s seen in his own mirror too many times to count. “He’s swimming in front of the baby ducks. He’s protecting them. See?" 

"Hey, Moms do that too, kid!” Emma calls and Henry’s eyes widen and he turns to David, his arm falling.

“Busted,” he whispers. 

“Busted,” David repeats. “But good theory. Daddies and mommies both protect their baby ducks." 

"Like you protect Emma?” Henry’s brown eyes - Gold's son's eyes - blink up at him, yet David cannot hold their gaze. It’s such a simple, innocent question yet it takes him a second, and then two, to swallow past the lump in his throat. 

“Like I protect Emma,” he chokes out. “And you too, kiddo." David taps him on the nose and gently spins him back around to the water. "Try again?" 

Henry nods and winds up without instruction, waiting for David’s ‘go.’

"Are you aiming for the big duck?” he asks, resting his chin on Henry’s tiny shoulder in an attempt to gauge his trajectory. 

“Uh huh." 

"Step forward on this leg,” he instructs with a tap to Henry’s left leg, “And release!”

The piece of bread goes careening through the air and when it lands perfectly in front of the family of ducks, Henry jumps up and down, whacking David’s chin. 

The older man falls back on the grass with a laugh, sprawled out and staring up at Emma as she leans over him. 

“Henry: 1. David: 0." 

"Kid’s got a right hook like his mother’s." 

"Mom, I did it!” Henry’s arms are over his head victoriously and David wonders if this is what bliss is.

But it’s not - because a very important piece of the puzzle is missing. A piece he can’t think about, lest he cloud this gloriously sunny day. 

“Henry, what do you say to David?” Emma calls and Henry runs over, jumping on David’s midsection and causing him to groan as he pulls him in tight. 

“Thanks, Gramps." 

"You’re welcome, buddy." 


	14. From Chapter 23 Part II

She winces as the door creaks and holds her breath, listening for any sound that her relatively uncoordinated arrival might have stirred.

Her head is swimming and she’s biting back giggles for no apparent reason - all thanks to Ruby and the multiple tequila shots she pushed into Emma’s hand.

It’s Ruby’s birthday - well it was. It’s now sometime after two in the morning and the effects of the alcohol hit her long ago, which is why she’s having some issues putting one foot in front of the other.

She turns and waves to Billy, their designated driver for the evening, and he laughingly shakes his head as he waves and drives off.

The house is dark, as she expects it to be, but David’s left the stair light on to keep her from breaking her neck, yet she still manages to trip over the hall rug and stumble into the railing, snorting as she catches herself on the coatrack.

“Well done,” comes a whispered accolade and she glances up to find David leaning against the railing at the top of the stairs.

“How are you awake? I was quiet!” she hisses as the bag hanging on the rack falls to the ground with a thud, causing her to wince again.

“So quiet,” David drawls.

“Did I wake Henry?” She knows she’s slurring, but the floor is tipping dangerously, and frankly, her speech patterns are the least of her worries.

“Nope. Out like a light,” David replies, coming down the stairs and gently taking her arm to hold her steady. “We finished Winnie-the-Pooh.”

“Oh good. Henry wouldn’t let anyone read it but you,” she says and if she sounds slightly petulant, she blames it on the booze.

“Well, I am a master at the voices.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She allows herself to be led into the kitchen and she sits less than gracefully at the kitchen table, laughing at the salt shaker she’s knocked over and the mess it’s made.

“Oh boy, I think Ruby and I are going to have a chat in the morning.”

“Ha, doubt it. She was worse off than I was.” She squints an eye and attempts to get a good look at him. “If she makes it into the diner, it’ll be a minor miracle.”

He smiles and returns to whatever he’s doing at the counter. Clearly, she’s woken him - his peejays are evidence enough - yet she has a sneaking (if hazy) suspicion that he’s been waiting up for her.

“Here, drink this.” He places a large glass of water in front of her and watches carefully as she chugs it down. “Did you eat?”

She nods.

“The lime in your drink does not count,” he wryly replies.

“I had a burger, thank you very much.”

“Good,” he murmurs much more softly as he places another glass of water in front of her.

“I’m drunk.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She cocks her heads as she takes another gulp, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she studies him.

“If I was mad at you, that would be the pot calling the kettle black, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

She smiles at the endearment and sighs deeply. “I don’t think I can make it up the stairs on my own.”

“Luckily, I am here to carry you.”

“My prince,” she murmurs and somewhere in the back of her boozy brain, she notices him stiffen.

“Always,” he quietly replies after a moment, and she knows he means it. He’ll always mean it, no matter the day or hour, and the realization is slightly sobering.

Slightly.

She finishes her third massive glass of water and groans. “If I drink anymore, I’ll burst.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says as he takes her glass and puts sit in the sink, before coming over and scooping her into his arms with more ease than she thought possible.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting you to bed, you lush.”

“Mmm.” Her heads falls to his shoulder and she closes her eyes, sinking into the feel of his arms and the safety they provide.

She can tell when they reach her room, and she notices the innate care he takes at placing her on the bed and removing her shoes. Her eyelids feel as though each bears a ten pound weight, so she succumbs to the darkness and settles into the pillow.

“Goodnight, squirt,” he murmurs, but it’s the lips she feels press against her head that has her eyes flying open.

“Thank you,” she says, grabbing hold of his wrist and staying his leave.

“For what?” he asks, smiling and brushing her hair away from her face.

“Everything.” Her eyelids flutter shut as he places another kiss on her head.

The alcohol is stealing her consciousness, and perhaps even molding her dreams, because as she drifts off, she swears she hears him say something she had always hoped would leave his lips:

“I’d do anything for my daughter.”


	15. From Chapter 26

Given the evening he’s had, sleep is elusive, yet he still manages to drift off to some degree, because next thing he knows, his bed is dipping and a tiny finger is gently tapping the side of his head.

“Gramps? Are you awake?”

He smiles and turns his head so he’s nose to nose with his grandson. “I’m awake.”

Henry shuffles around a bit on the covers until he’s sitting cross legged and staring at David like he’s the only one who can put his world back together.

“Are you mad?”

David sits up and rubs his eyes, leaning against the headboard and pulling Henry to him. “Now why would I be mad?”

Henry bites his lip and toys with the edge of the blanket. “Because I found out your secret.”

And David pauses a bit before answering, because there are two very different paths he could take in this moment and he’s not sure in which direction to go. There’s denial, which would devastate Henry but do nothing to upset the careful balance they’ve created - or affirmation, which would elate his grandson, but put their very precious secret in very tiny hands.

Henry’s still blinking up at him with all the hope and trust in the world and David’s answer comes to him as quick and as sure as one of his wife’s arrows.

“You’re a clever boy. You were bound to find out sooner or later.”

“So it’s true?” he asks, already bouncing back up on his knees and staring at David like it’s Christmas come early.

“What do you think?”

At this, Henry cocks his head with the authority of a lawyer examining evidence. “You got this from Snow White,” he says, touching David’s chin, before moving to the circular wound on his shoulder. “This one, too.” Then he points to the badge resting on David’s nightstand, before picking it up and watching it catch the moonlight through the window. “You protect people for a living. That’s what princes do, too, right?”

David nods, mouth fixed in a permanent, amazed grin as Henry rattles off point after point, explaining why his Gramps has another equally important persona.

“And you’re just good. Princes are good,” he concludes, finally drawing breath and awaiting David’s response.

“You know what this means, right?” He asks and Henry nods enthusiastically.

“We’ve got a big job ahead of us.”

“We do,” he replies, pulling the boy closer and smelling his shampoo. Henry settles into the crook in his arm, listening to the beat of David’s heart, and they remain like that with Henry rising and falling with every breath the older man takes, until the boy suddenly sits up, nearly clocking David in the chin.

“But where’s Snow White? She came here, too. She had to have!”

David places a large hand on the boy’s head, urging him to calm down. He could tell him that Snow White will be teaching him in just a few short years. He could say that she was one of the first people to hold him after he was born, but this is one truth he wants to hold close to his vest for just a little while longer.

“When you’re a little older, maybe you’ll put two and two together.”

“But she’s here?”

“Very much here.”

“Good,” Henry states, backing it up with a nod of his head. “It would be mean to separate you two.”

And David closes his eyes because if only Henry knew. If only anyone knew just how separated they are.

“But that means…” Henry suddenly gasps, “that means my mom’s your daughter.” His eyes begin to water and his lower lip trembles. “And I’m - I’m your grandson. Like, for real.”

“You sure are,” David chokes out, wondering briefly if it’s possible to die from so much happiness. He crashes the boy into his chest and holds him for all he’s worth, pouring as much ‘you’re safe, you’re loved, you’re mine’ into it as he can.

“Mom can’t know,” Henry finally mumbles against David’s chest. “Not yet. She won’t believe.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, kid,” he quietly replies, thinking of that moment - the moment when Emma looks at him and knows who he is.

“Do you miss her? Snow White?”

“More than anything.”

“Don’t worry,” Henry replies, digging his feet under the covers and ensuring he’s in for the night, “I’ll get her back for you.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Prince Henry.”

David turns out the light and settles down, thinking that with his grandson in his arms and a mighty quest before him, there’s nowhere else in this world (or any other) he’d rather be.


	16. From Chapter 26 Part II

“Open this,” David instructs as he drops a present in Emma’s lap.

It’s perfectly wrapped in dancing snowmen wrapping paper. The bow leaves something to be desired, but she loves that he tried. 

“Christmas is two days away." 

"Your point?” he asks as he plops down on the floor next to her in the makeshift Santa’s workshop that they set up in David’s room every night after Henry passes out. 

“We open presents on Christmas morning." 

"Except for this present, which I want you to open now." 

She raises an eyebrow, but she knows there’s no reasoning with him when he’s got that look in his eye. That manic glee that makes him look like both boy and man in one giddy package. 

"Fine." 

"Henry already opened his." 

"And you didn’t tell me?” She punches him in the arm with one hand while she tugs at the bow with the other. 

“Oww." 

"I should have gotten a picture,” she mutters as the wrapping falls away, revealing a generic white shirt box. The lid is off in a moment and she pushes the tissue paper aside to reveal quite possibly the most ridiculous outfit she’s ever witnessed. "Dear god, what did you do?“ 

"They’re Christmas pajamas!” he exclaims. “For Christmas morning!" 

"Yeah, I got that.” She lifts the bright red shirt out of the box which has a white tree plastered on the front, only to reveal red and green striped pants beneath. 

“Our shirts are green. Yours is red." 

"But it’s so… bright." 

"It’s festive." 

"It’s corny." 

"It’s a tradition." 

"Since when?" 

"Since now." 

The argument ends in a staring contest and she only relents because she knows Henry will look absolutely adorable in the outfit. (And because she plans on getting many pictures of David to use as blackmail later). 

So it’s with great reluctance that she puts the pajamas on on Christmas Eve and it’s with anticipatory glee that she wakes to the sound of Henry bouncing on David’s bed, urging him to wake up. 

She should be grateful the boy saved her for last, if only so she could savor the moment of watching David appear in the doorway, Henry slung over one shoulder, both decked out in their holiday stripes.

"Mama, Santa came!” Henry yells and his smile is so bright, it could guide a ship home. 

“You must have been good, then,” she says, throwing the covers off and delighting in the fact that her family matches for Christmas morning. David carries Henry down the stairs, helping him make sure that Santa ate his cookies, and Emma watches with a permanent lump in her throat at knowing the scene in front of her is actually  _real._ Is actually  _hers._

And just when she thinks she can’t love the men in her life anymore, Graham shows up on the doorstep, proudly unzipping his jacket to reveal his own green shirt and showing off his striped pajama pants. 

And Emma plants one on him before he can finish getting out “Merry." 

She assumes the "Christmas” is implied.  


End file.
